


I Will Not Send You Into the Darkness Alone

by Narcissistic_Ninny



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Angst, Cannibalism, Character Death, Human Castiel, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-03-05
Packaged: 2017-12-04 11:01:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narcissistic_Ninny/pseuds/Narcissistic_Ninny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only thing they have left is each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Will Not Send You Into the Darkness Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Apocalypse fic. Cas is a human. Slightly based off the book, The Road. I just finished reading it and it’s been stuck in my head.

It was getting darker out. There were murky clouds starting to form above them. The black clouds looked like smoke from a fire, and Dean didn’t want to think about what it is that is being burned. Based on the smell that hit his senses, he knew exactly what it was.

If he could smell it then chances were they weren’t too far away from the others causing the fire. Dean looked to his side, where Cas walked along, eyebrows pinched together in the center of his forehead, frowning in concern. His fingers went to his hip, where Dean knew he kept a concealed six-shooter with a single bullet left in the chamber.

Cas was grimy and just as filthy as Dean was. His beard was thick and unmanaged, his greasy black hair crisscrossing on the back of his neck. His boots were caked in a layer of dirt, rotting holes tearing his boots apart from the sole. He was pale and skinny, deathly looking. It worried him, even scared him to see the way Cas looked. He had the look of a skeleton about him. Dean knew he must have looked the same.

He took his eyes off him, taking a look at the forest to the side of the road. All the trees were dead, charred and black. Bitter ash crunched under their feet, the sky getting darker. “We should stay here for the night.”

Cas nodded, and together they headed into the darkness to hide for the night.

 

 

\--

 

 

They found a house off the side of the road, hidden deep in the lifeless landscape. Dean went in alone with his colt in hand, searching the place while Cas stood outside to watch guard in case anyone was to come around. He found nothing, and most importantly, no one inside the house.

He checked the cabinets next and wasn’t surprised to find them completely empty. If it had been stocked at one point, it wasn’t anymore. He checked the bathroom next and called Cas inside. When Cas met him inside the small bathroom in between two bedrooms, he pointed to the water running down the rusty tap. “Look. We can bathe.”

They bathed in the tub, Dean first, then Cas. Dean found a pair of scissors on the floor where the living room used to be, under thrown about furniture and now useless appliances covered in dust. He went back inside the bathroom and cut his hair and beard in the sink while Cas washed up. He tried not to focus on the sunken in look around his eyes when he looked himself over in the mirror. When his hair was a short trim and he had nothing more than a light beard, he looked over at Cas.

Cas was skinnier than he thought. His spine was like a string of ping-pong balls and his rib cage looked like a bloated bird’s cage under his skin. Dean sat by the tub, watching him sitting there, bringing the water to his chest; scrubbing away the dirt. Somehow, they couldn’t wash it all away. No matter how many times they washed in the rivers or in houses with running water, there was always dirt under their nails, on their skin. Like they were permanently stained.

Dean reached for the scissors sitting on the sink and began to cut Cas’ hair. He didn’t stop cutting it until it was a little longer than his, and wiped away the bristles of hair left on his back. Cas tilted his head to look at Dean from over his shoulder. “We can stay here for the night. It’s starting to get dark.”

“There could be someone out there.”

“We’ll wake up in anyone tries to come in.”

It wasn’t safe. It was practically suicide. Dean nodded. “Okay.”

While Cas dressed, Dean closed all the locks and windows. He set up the large furniture in front of the doors and he placed fragile objects on the window stills, balancing them there. If someone tried to get in, the noise would wake them. It was a huge risk, sleeping in the house, but Cas looked like he needed a good night’s rest.

When he went back into the bedroom, Cas had the mattress on its side on the floor while he beat it over and over, clouds of dust bursting from every blow. When Cas hit it enough, he set it back on the bed frame and settled on it. Dean lied next to him, setting the colt by the makeshift pillows Cas had made from balled up tattered curtains and stuffing from the torn up couch from the living room.

They fell into dreamless sleep together.

 

 

\--

 

 

They were starving. They hadn’t eaten in days, and Cas’ face was getting more sunken in. Sometimes the hunger got so bad that he couldn’t even think of anything. Other times he was paralyzed by pain and couldn’t feel anything. Some days he could swear he could _feel_ his body eating itself.

Not only that, they were starting to get sick. Dean had started to hack up blood. He usually tried to be discreet about it, if only to not worry the man, but he had heard Cas coughing at night when he thought Dean was asleep. As they walked down the dirt road, their pace got slower, walking in mild little strides.

Dean stepped on a wedge of weeds that puckered through the barren land, wittered and dying in the cold. The road they walked on took them nowhere, they were falling to an irreversible fall and Dean wished things were different. They stepped around a bloodied up skeleton, chunks of raw flesh hanging off the bones.

They could no longer look to the sky and wish for a new day. The inky hands of the gloomy clouds always robbed them of sunshine. Of hope. Dean remembered a time when the sky used to be blue. He remembered Cas’ eyes were that same shade. Now there was something missing in his eyes that could never be put back in again. His eyes were blue, but it darkened and glistened to almost black.

Looking into those eyes always set a dull ache in Dean.  

At night he laid next to Cas, trying to imagine a world that wasn’t there anymore.

 

 

\--

 

 

They rummaged through another home some days later, Dean had no idea how many days had passed since they stayed the night at the last house. It had the look of a home that had once been a nice, maybe even loving, but the rummaged porch and furniture thrown in the front lawn marred that thought. Dean found a can of peaches in the pantry, covered in dust, lonely and forgotten on the top shelf.

He opened the can with his knife and shared it with Cas. The juice from the fruit dripped down their dirty fingers, and they sucked on it with ravenousness hunger. They sat huddled in the bottom of the stairwell, plucking the slices and chewing on the sugary fruit. Dean let Cas drink the last of the juice welled in the bottom of the can. Blue and green eyes roamed over the house after they had finished their meal.

“This kinda reminds me of the home me and Sammy grew up in,” Dean said.

Cas stared at his profile. Dean wiped his mouth from the sweet tang the peaches left on his lips.

It was true enough; the house did have a look of the one he grew up in. Then he remembered how young Sam had been when it all happened. When the world became gray and dead, and his daddy lost hope. Sam never remembered the house he grew up in because he had been too young. It looked like the house Dean grew up, not Sam.

Sam grew up wandering the roads, sleeping in abandoned homes and inside rotting motels and in the confines of the woods where they could be safe from men willing to eat them if it meant survival.

Their father had grown bitter when the fall had taken his wife. He taught Sam and Dean to kill and protect themselves from the cannibals out there. Sam never got a chance to be a kid. Sam grew up and died never knowing what a home felt like. The poor kid didn’t really have a real life, real childhood. Not really.

“It looks like the house _I_ grew up, I mean.” Dean’s eyes welled with tears.

“Stop,” Cas breathed somewhere near him. He couldn’t really tell where he was. Dean felt dizzy. He cleared his throat when Cas wrapped his fingers around his wrist. “It’s okay. Dean, it’s okay.”

He nodded, tears falling on his lap. He exhaled heavily, his body feeling less rigid.  It was okay.

 

 

\--

 

 

They made it to a part of some town where it might have been overpopulated at some point. They found a diner, making Dean remember the taste of apple pies and burgers. He wished he didn’t, so he could forget about all the good stuff, make living in this hell easier. He had walked into an alleyway, planning to rummage through the dumpsters and the abandoned parked cars there for food. He should have known better than to go somewhere dark.

There was a group of cannibals. Six of them. All with long filthy beards, all wielding some form of weapon. Two carried an axe at their side; one had a giant hunter’s knife like the one Dean carried. The others carried guns. Him and Cas ran into the forest, barely escaping the rain of bullets that went off around them.

They ran, their boots weighing them down, lack of food making them weak, hard to run. Only years of running away didn’t paralyze them from fear. They managed to run out of the town and into the forest, where they both begin to zigzag their way through the charred wasteland. Dean could hear them running after them in the distance.

Cas skidded down a steep slope, dragging Dean by the wrist, pulling him with him. When they reached the bottom, Cas laid flat on the ground and pressed Dean to his chest, his hand flying to over Dean’s mouth. A fallen tree somewhat obscured them from sight while still allowing Cas to peak his head over to see if they were still following.

With his free hand, Cas slipped his hand to his hip and took out his gun. He pulled back the hammer, ready to fire if needed. Dean stared; shaky breaths heaving his chest. Sometimes he forgot that Cas was a guy that could fend for himself. Cas’ face looked strained, trying to pick out any sounds through the heavy quiet of the dead forest. Dean felt the weight of his fingers on his mouth; both their bodies were rigid from terror.

With Cas’ jaw set firm and face set like that way, Dean felt strength from him. With his head pressed to Cas’ chest, he could hear, _feel_ his heart pounding in his chest. His was too, adrenaline pumping and rushing through his blood, could almost hear it throbbing his temples.

They were always ready to fight back, but they were always scared.

 

 

\--

 

 

They hid in the forest until it got dark and the quietness of the night wasn’t unsettling but depressingly familiar. No one was coming after them anymore. Cas held onto him tighter, like he was afraid they were around somewhere, hiding and waiting. Dean wanted to make a protest that they should move, but the arms around him were comforting and he lay there some more. They only moved when it began to rain.

They headed back in the direction they had been going but stuck to the outskirts of the town, and afterwards settled under a freeway to hide from the rain. Dean built a fire under the freeway entrance, both huddled close, hands outstretched to receive the warmth greedily. Cas looked at him. “Is this safe?”

It wasn’t. The fire could easily attract anyone’s attention and give them away. But Cas was sick. “We’re both cold and ill. If I don’t make a fire, we’ll die tonight.”

Cas sat silently, the rainfall getting louder around them. His body curled in and he coughed a bit. Dean huddled closer until their shoulders touched. They sat in silence, both engrossed in their own thoughts.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said under a rushed breath. “Remember when we found that river bend a few months back? We stayed there, washing our clothes, drinking the water, we even played around for a while?” he asked, a small grin on his face. He remembered Sam had still been alive then, and he had even playfully shoved his head underwater for a good minute. 

“I thought you said we shouldn’t talk about the past.”

“I did, but sometimes I think we need it. To help us move forward.”

Cas pinched his eyebrows together, then nodded. He set to look at the fire, and Dean noticed he wasn’t looking at the flames, but the memories playing before his eyes. “I remember when I was young, my brothers and I would go to the beach,” he said, voice even despite his shaking hands. “I don’t think I’ll ever see the ocean again, at least not like how it used to be.” Cas looked at him again. “Do you think there are oceans in heaven?”

“I don’t believe in God, much less a place like heaven.”

“Well, I think heaven would have an ocean,” Cas said. “And I would see my brothers there.”

Dean stayed quiet. He thought of his brother Sam, the thought of seeing him again didn’t sound so bad. He said under his breath, “If there is a heaven, I want to be there with you and Sam.”

Cas’ lips pulled into what might be a smile, except it was muffled by years of pain and terror, of grief, and there was nothing to do done about it except smile sadly back.

 

 

\--

 

 

One of the men with the long beards that he had seen the day before had his knees on either side of him, pinning him down. The only reason the guy hadn’t been stabbed yet was because Dean had a firm grip on his wrist, keeping him moments away from killing him and slicing his throat.

The guy was snarling, clearly a cannibal wanting his next meal; drool falling on Dean’s face. He growled and yelled in his face like a rabid animal, a grating rasp of his throat that made Dean want to smash his skull in. He gathered his energy and anger, about to shove him off when the other man stilled, and Dean thought maybe he was hallucinating, then a loud bang reached his ears. The man coughed blood, specks of red falling on Dean’s face, along with his spit, and he fell on top of Dean in a lifeless heap.

Dean pushed him off, and rolled to the side and stood. He saw Cas standing there, the six-shooter held loosely in his hand, eyes checking Dean for injuries. Standing there, having saved Dean’s life, Dean had a crazy thought that he sort of looked like an angel. It was a stupid thought, he didn’t even believe in such things, but yet, that thought remained. Cas dropped the gun and closed the distance between them.

“Are you ok?” Dean asked him. Cas could have been hurt, yet he saved Dean.

Cas hugged him suddenly, wrapping him in a tight embrace. “I’m fine, don’t worry about me.”

Dean hugged him back, unable to say anything.

“Why do you think you have to take care of me? I’m not useless Dean, I don’t need to be taken care of. I just need you here,” he breathed in his ear, holding him tight enough to hurt, in a demanding and frantic clutch. “Here with me.”

They stood there, holding each other, the bottom of their boots being stained with spilled blood, the sky black like ink. Dean felt like their embrace was a small fire, a tiny ember that made the world they lived in less dark.

He held onto Cas, not wanting to let go.

 

 

\--

 

 

Cas’ cough was getting worst. When Dean woke in the mornings, he hack up more blood while on his knees, crimson red staining the gravel under his hands. Somewhere in the distance, he heard Cas coughing until his throat was raw and he couldn’t even cough anymore.

They had been able to find a stream the day before, but the water had been so thick with rot, it looked like a stew. It had taken long to filter the water until it was drinkable, and even then it hadn’t been enough to lessen their coughs.

They both knew their days were limited, even if they were to find food again. There was no way they could outrun death this time. It seemed his luck had run out.

Cas looked at him, those eyes that told he had been haunted his whole life told Dean then that he had reached a decision. “Let’s stay here for the night.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Okay.”

 

 

\--

 

 

Cas laid his head on Dean’s chest. They were both worn, sick and dying. The two of them had found an old car abandoned in a field, a black old muscle car, and had climbed into the back seat, curled with their legs bent at the knee to be able to fit inside. Dean ran his cold fingers through Cas’ hair, feeling the car softy quake from the billowing wind outside.

“So this is where it ends.”

Dean couldn’t bear looking at him, couldn’t help but think that maybe if Cas had travelled with someone else, he might have been better off. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I didn’t find food. I didn’t-” his voice broke and he stopped until he felt his voice would be even again. “I couldn’t keep you safe, keep you alive.”

“It’s not your responsibility. Not everything is your fault.”

He stayed silent. When Cas spoke, his voice was weary. “If you need to apologize, then I accept. I forgive you.”

Dean’s hand found Cas’ own, bringing it to his chest. “Will you hold my hand?” he asked.

Cas intertwined their fingers. “Just promise not to let go.”

There wasn’t a chance for them to smile, think about their lives. It had been a difficult life, one filled with gruesome violence and the darkness of men. That knowledge didn’t mar the time they spent together, the feelings he felt for Cas were the same as it always was. They had only been able to survive so long because of each other, held together by their bond.

Cas leaned more against him, touch soft and trusting. He held onto him tight, feeling his body growing weaker. He knew Cas was going, fading too, but he wouldn’t let him go alone. As long as he could see Cas again, join him again; he would be okay. He wasn’t a believing man, but he still fancied the idea of seeing him again someday.

Green eyes closed. He won’t send Cas into the darkness alone.

 

 

 

 


End file.
